


I Wanna Kiss Your Neck (And Make You Purple All Over)

by spideysmjs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Betty Brant is a Good Bro, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom Peter Parker, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hooking up, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: “I’ll do it,” she said, as nonchalantly as possible.“What?” he turned to her.“It’s just a shot.”“Off my body.”MJ runs into her old high school crush Peter Parker after two years of not speaking. Body shots ensue.





	I Wanna Kiss Your Neck (And Make You Purple All Over)

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you try to write a porn w/o plot one-shot but accidentally put a mini-plot to it because you physically can't help yourself......... also i thought this fandom needs more smutty stuffs, eheh, so i did that with a dash of spooky season in the light of the upcoming holiday!!! enjoy, and let me know what y'all think. 
> 
> (if there are typos, i'm sorry, idk her)
> 
> ~*~ fic title from pink bubblegum by lavi kou~*~
> 
> happy halloween friends!

MJ wasn’t quite a fan of going out - not really. 

Her entire first year at Harvard was challenging, given the fact that she’d known a total of zero people in a population of 23,000 students on campus. She met her first roommate, Marie, who was kind but quiet and slightly unapproachable - which later MJ discovered is because their personalities are one in the same, both too nervous to be the first to bring up topics of discussion as well as be the ones to give answers to questions that couldn’t possibly carry on the conversation. As the year went on, she discovered that Marie was fun, intelligent, hilarious, and a damn great friend even though she’d dispose of her socks anywhere in their 228 square feet living space.

She decided to move in with Marie again for their second year, in a run-down apartment with a leaky faucet and air conditioning that only worked if you smacked it four times. Affordable and tolerable. Tolerable unlike the way MJ’s old high school friend, Flash, acted in high school when he performed as a (self-appointed) DJ at their sad and awkward Midtown high school parties - which is where her contempt against the idea of horny young adults gathering around each other was born. 

So, how she found herself in the middle of a damp and musty stranger’s party with her roommate on the weekend before Halloween - she didn’t know. 

Maybe it was her willingness to change her own opinion about herself. Always being the one to hide in the corners, to observe from a distance, and to shy away from social gatherings, MJ was having a very difficult time in college. Even in her second year, she had a total of three friends: her roommate, Marie - as previously mentioned - Derek, from her second-semester art class freshman year that obviously wanted to hook up with MJ, but had never explicitly took the opportunity, and Beth, the barista at the coffee shop MJ would frequent so often that they’d offer her a part-time job. 

Yet, all three of them dispersed away from MJ the moment they entered the spooky-themed apartment dressed in dim pink and purple lights accompanied by the heavy bass of basic party beats that the host probably found from SoundCloud. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t be bothered to chase after her friends because, well, they completed their mission of bringing her out, dressed in her D.I.Y. Peppa (Marie was Salt) T-Shirt dress and thigh-high boots and buzzed off four pre-game shots. 

MJ makes her way towards the free drinks, or alternatively, what she came there for. And in the middle of pouring a selection of cheap dark liquor into a (hopefully) unused Dixie cup, she heard the laugh. _His_ laugh. And it takes her back, all the way to sophomore year of high school when she’d watch him from afar or sit just three chairs away from him and his best friend at the lunch table. 

Peter Parker. In the flesh. 

She flicked her head upwards and saw him in a white lab coat and goggles propped on the top of his head, pushing away his curls. It wasn’t until she kept her gaze on him longer that she realized he had no shirt underneath the coat sporting the glistening six-pack build that MJ knew he had. There was no reason to be wearing loose-fitted long sleeves or oversized hoodies in the middle of the spring. But, she digressed. 

“Parker,” she called out. He turned away from the blonde-haired girl he’d been laughing with, his smile only widening more when he met eyes with MJ.

“MJ!” he yelled. He strutted closer to MJ with a can of beer in hand and the uttermost confidence that MJ had never seen him wear. Funny how two years away from the hellscape of Midtown Tech could change you. “What are you doing here?”

“Do you think I’m _incapable_ of going to a party?” her brows furrowed.

“No, uh - that’s not what I meant - I just,” he scrambled for an explanation, words slurred from the alcohol he’d probably been drinking. Now _ that’s _Peter Parker.

“I’m joking,” she smiled, toothless and in admiration of the boy she’d been desperately in love with in high school. “My friends forced me out.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. Yeah, I’m here with Ned and his girlfriend, Betty. This is her place actually. Do you want to meet her?” 

MJ nodded and he led her over to the girl he’d been laughing with earlier. She’d dressed up as a doctor as well. “Betty, meet MJ. I’ve told you about her before, you know, the academic decathlon captain.”

Mid handshake, her heart jumped at the fact that Peter had mentioned her before, but also had zero negative sentiments toward their history, remembering the “what if’s” and “what could have been’s” of the Peter and MJ story because nothing ever happened, save for the awkward hushed rumors that went around the academic decathlon clique which only drove a stake further into the friendship that they worked hard to maintain.

“Hi, I’m Betty,” she took MJ’s hand and smiled. “Ned thought it’d be funny if we were all doctors because we’re all physics majors. Physic-ians.” 

“That’s…”

“Not funny,” Betty finished her sentence and MJ sighed of relief from not having to lie about how clever and funny it was. “So why haven’t we seen you around often?”

MJ didn’t really know the answer if she was being completely honest. So she shrugged in response to Betty.

“MJ’s too cool for us now,” Peter quipped, and what was seemingly a harmless joke reflecting the entire tone of their friendship, hurt MJ more than she let on.

“I’ve been _ busy,_” she lied. “We can definitely hang out more.”

“Well, we can start that by taking shots,” Betty instigated and smirked at the two friends - a smile that MJ had a feeling meant more to Peter than it did to herself because the second Betty popped the suggestion, a visible air of tension cut the sweaty air of the apartment. Betty grabbed Peter and MJ in each of her hands and pulled them to her kitchen. 

“I save the better and more expensive alcohol in here for my favorite people,” she nudged MJ’s shoulders while grabbing a bottle of Hennessy from the freezer. “We can just do pulls if you're comfortable with that.” 

Betty swigged the Cognac like a champ and passed it to Peter, who cheered her on before downing three gulps of the liquor and handing it off to MJ.

“I don’t drink like this often,” MJ frowned, “so I’ll probably look a lot less cool doing this than you both.”

“It’s not about how you drink it, MJ, it’s about getting drunk,” Betty placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “Plus, we think you’re pretty cool already. Right, Peter?”

He bit his lip before speaking, hiding a touch of emotion that MJ’s clouded mind couldn’t decode. “Super cool, Em.”

She smiled and placed the bottle on her lips, the taste of alcohol already creeping and punching her taste buds. She forced three gulps, the same amount as Peter’s, down her throat before coughing up a storm and letting the Hennessy slip from her fingertips. Before it could fall and crash into a pool of wasted money on the kitchen counter, Peter caught it instinctively. 

“I’m so sorry Betty,” MJ slurred her words, stomach already warm from the rising alcohol percentage in her bloodstream. 

“Don’t worry about it, Peter’s always here to save the day,” she laughs. “I’m going to go around and mingle now, see you later. Feel free to keep drinking that.”

Now, with Betty gone and MJ becoming drunker and drunker, she had become hyper-aware of the fact that she was alone with Peter in the kitchen.

“So, slutty doctor?” MJ broke the silence.

“It was Ned’s stupid idea. He thinks I don’t show myself off enough and that this would get me to hook up with someone by the end of the night,” he pulled the edges of the coat closer to each other to hide his skin.

“You planning to do that still?”

“I didn’t really want to do that in the first place, but he wouldn’t quit bugging me about it. So thank you for saving me from his qualms about ‘using my charm’ and ‘getting some’ tonight, MJ,” he sipped a bit of the Hennessy again. “You’re my hero.”

Even though the perspiration from bodies too close to each other radiated in the entire apartment, those words alone sent shivers down MJ’s spine. 

“Glad to know I can be of your service, Parker,” she smiled. “You saved me, too - my friends forced me to go out and I’m glad I’m not pushed up against the wall like a loner.” 

“Being pushed up against the wall is only fun when someone’s doing it to you,” he snorted. Another sip. 

“What?”

“Oh. Uh. Nothing. I’m just kinda drunk,” he rambled on, “and I get really stupid when I’m drunk and–”

“It’s true, though,” she looked at him. And suddenly the charming exterior of Peter Parker’s eyes turned darker, with more desire glistening. “Didn’t think you’d think that, though.”

“Are _you_ saying _I’m_ incapable of having fun?” he mimicked her previous accusation from earlier. 

“I just didn’t peg you as someone that enjoyed being pushed against the wall,” she shrugged, grabbing the bottle and drinking her embarrassment of an otherwise cringey conversation if not for her reignited crush on Peter Parker and liquid haze of courage. 

“What did you peg me as?”

“Cute, innocent, Peter Parker.”

“At least I got cute.”

“You have a lot more than cute,” she pushed further. 

“What else do I got?”

“I’m not going to sit around and feed you with compliments that you already probably know Peter,” she scoffed. Another swig.

“How do you know I know?” 

“Please, everyone on the Academic Decathlon team was _ nuts _about you.”

“Were you?” he asked, forward and insinuating. 

“Did I not say everyone?” she nudged him, and he nudged her back. He chuckled and stepped away from the counter he’d been leaning against to face her. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s just all too familiar,” he shook his head, leaning forward and closing the space between them if only for a second - just to place the now half-drunk bottle next to MJ on the counter.

“What is?” she released her breath after Peter stepped away.

“I just – I never understood why it didn’t happen.” He leaned closer, hands reaching out to hers slowly.

“Oh,” was all MJ could release before a burst of the kitchen door interrupted what could have happened. 

“I, Betty Brant,” she slurred, “am about to take a body shot off of my sweet and wonderful boyfriend, and as requested, he would like for you all to see!” 

Peter laughed again, the sweet sound echoing in MJ’s ears washing away the incoherent lyrics of noisy, tasteless music at the party. He looked at MJ and nodded his head toward the living room, signaling for them to leave the kitchen – leave the moment that, if she had just broken the silence ten seconds earlier, would have been a moment that redefined Peter and MJ.

In the living room, Ned’s sprawled on the couch with his belly button exposed. There were significantly fewer people at the apartment, MJ wondering how much time had really passed in the room with Peter. The friends she came with had probably taken off after the noise ordinance in Boston struck, the only people left being Betty’s closest friends.

“What’s up MJ!” Ned lifted his head from the couch, not bothering to give her a full greeting, too thrilled about what was happening. Betty, with the cursed bottle of Hennessy from the kitchen, gave Peter the orders of pouring a small shot on Ned, and as the crowd hyped Betty up, she committed the crime of drinking from her boyfriend’s skin and proudly chased the lick of alcohol with an enthusiastic _ whoop! _and a fistbump to Ned. 

“Who’s next?” Betty shouted over the music. “Peter?” 

She smirked at him, and he shrugged. He removed the goggles from his head releasing his sweaty curls as he dragged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed as he played with the goggles and looked down toward the ground.

“No one wants to do that off of me,” he said.

And from that statement, mixed with the curiosity of the Kitchen Conversation, was all MJ needed to convince herself to make what could be the biggest mistake of her life. 

“I’ll do it,” she said, as nonchalantly as possible. 

“What?” he turned to her. She shrugged.

“It’s just a shot.”

“Off my body.”

“I’d like to quote Betty Brant, circa not too long ago, when she said ‘It’s not about how you drink it, it’s about getting drunk,” MJ jokingly crossed her arms and huffed at Peter, her head spinning from the buzz as well as the surprising look of Peter’s face - the look she had not long ago, before Betty had burst through the door. “What do you say, Parker? Fuck it?”

He thought about it. And she knew the questions he was asking himself, were the questions that have been on her mind ever since their days at Midtown when she couldn’t quite figure out what Peter wanted.

_ What would this mean for us? _

_ What if everything would change? _

_ What if it doesn’t work out? _

_ What if… _

And the list went on. But, unlike MJ, who had brushed away the curiosity, who had thrown away her life at Midtown High, thrown away her past relationships - Peter did something she never had the courage to do. 

“Let’s do it,” he walked over to the couch, pulled off the white coat so that his stomach was exposed to the crowded room. “Pour the alc, Betty.”

MJ’s heart stopped and the few swigs from earlier began to rush through her head. She could feel her stomach clench, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. No, not from that. It was from Peter Parker, half-shirtless, belly button filled to the brim with Hennessy, ready for MJ to lick it off. She was drunk, in more ways than one, and no form of sobriety could shake away the way Peter made MJ feel. 

There it was, liquid jumping to the bass of the song in the small of Peter’s belly button, staring at her, daring her to go closer. And she did. 

She straddled him on the couch, hovering over his legs, breath deep, and heart racing. She’s sure the crowd is cheering her on as if it was the final scene in a romantic comedy, where the girl and guy finally get together. 

Two lovers, drifting apart because of circumstances, a “will they? won’t they?” situation of the century. And this time they would, if only just for a moment. 

So she leaned down with her face hovering over Peter’s stomach and watched the alcohol spill slowly out of the crevice. She took one, deep breath and licked a strip from the bottom of his barely noticeable happy trail to his belly button, and sucked the alcohol out of it. After finishing, she lifted herself off the couch and heard the cheers, loud and clear from everyone watching, with the only three silent people in the room being Ned, Betty, and Peter. 

But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. And the excitement of licking Peter’s stomach turned into an embarrassment. What had she done? She wiped her alcohol stained lips with the back of her hand, pushing through the crowd of exclusive after-party attendants and made her way into the deep midnight breeze of the Boston air. 

She walked toward the corner, pulled her phone out, ignoring the messages from her friends telling her they’d decided to leave off to another party and opening the Uber app. She wrapped her arms around herself to fight the chills shivering down her spine, the blanket of warmth from the alcohol slowly disappearing. 

“MJ,” she turned and saw Peter. “Why’d you leave?”

“I felt like an idiot in front of all of those people."

“You’re not an idiot. They were cheering you on."

“Because they’re all idiots. Drunk and wanting some crazy shit to happen.”

“Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that… It’s just–” 

He stepped closer towards her. 

“It’s you, you know?” she tried her best to steady her breath. 

Closer.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s… it’s perfect, Peter. You’re perfect and I–”

He closes the small gap between their lips, and what MJ thought would be a sweet first kiss from her high school crush, was hungry and rushed, like he’d needed the kiss to survive the night like the kiss should have happened years ago - and it should have. Time was never on their side. 

Not until now. 

And they keep kissing until the Uber MJ prematurely called honked for their attention from across the street. So she pulled him to the car, and said, “No one’s at my apartment,” to which Peter responded by stopping her quickly and pressing a kiss to the top of her head before being honked at again.

The moment they get dropped off, the Uber driver zooms away, upset at the horny college students making out in the back of his Honda Civic, but that brought no shame to Peter and MJ. They’d waited too long for this, and now they couldn’t hold back. 

She unlocked the door to her empty apartment and turned on the low lighting of her living room, glasses still full of chaser and uncapped bottles of liquor covering the table. After removing their shoes, she pulled Peter to her room and shut the door. 

Before kissing again, she stroked Peter’s cheeks, cold from the slight walk from the Uber to the apartment door. He smiled a smile that she would keep in her mind forever, and suddenly, she pushed him against the wall beside her bedroom door and crashed her lips against his one more time. 

“Oh,” he said the second he found a moment to break away from the kiss.

“I thought you liked getting pushed against the wall,” she teased. 

“I do,” he squatted down to put his arms around MJ’s lower back and lift her up from below her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping at the strength of cute, innocent Peter Parker, and severely turned on by the way he had no trouble carrying her and propping her onto her bed. Hovering over MJ, bodies only inches away from each other, Peter whispered softly against MJ’s lips, “But I like this more.”

This next kiss set off fireworks in MJ’s head, something about the image of the two of them on her very own queen-sized bed made MJ feel content, excited, but most importantly - normal. Everything about this kiss felt right, sweet, and all that MJ had ever expected when thinking about him. But as soft as the kiss once was, Peter’s kissing only grew rougher and faster, with more want than MJ had for him. 

His lips then traveled to her jaw, peppering quick kisses along her chin and toward her ear, and he began to nibble at her lobes, eliciting a deep exhale and moan from her. 

“You like that? What else do you like?” his voice, rough and full of need. She kept moaning as he nibbled, licked, and breathed into her. “You gotta tell me, Em.”

She barely comprehended that Peter fucking Parker was begging her to say nasty, nasty desires, only letting out a weak, “my neck, kiss my neck.” 

He dove his head to her neck and with zero hesitation began to nip and suck at the nape, his hands exploring her still clothed body, fondling her breasts and waist through the cotton dress she really wanted to dispose of. Peter's hands made their way from her waist to her back and unhooked her bra without touching her skin, and her mind was everywhere as if her thoughts moved one second slower than Peter’s actions, and her reaction time was delayed, yet she continued to moan.

“Take my clothes off, take all of them off,” she begged. “Rip them off.” 

She pulled on his hair until he hovered down to her crotch, causing her to let go and quickly grip the sheets. Peter gripped the end of her dress and pushed in all the way up for her to throw it over her head, exposing her naked body, except for the black lacy underwear that Peter eyed with determination. His hands roamed her thighs while he inched closer toward her center, his heavy breathing making MJ wetter and wetter, wanting his lips on her. 

“What do you want?”

“Peter.”

“You gotta tell me.”

“You. Your tongue. _ Please_,” her words coming out as a cry while his presses his lips against the lace, kissing her entrance through the fabric. “Peter.”

“You’re so wet.”

“Because of you.”

“God, MJ,” he said before tucking her underwear to the side and pressing his tongue on her crotch. She was convinced she’d died and went to heaven because Peter ate her pussy out like she was an angel on earth, with delicate care and endless passion. He pulled her panties off completely, wrapped his arms from beneath her thighs, and pushed her legs wide open. He sucked on her clit with no remorse and all she could do was moan, moan,_ moan. _

“Fuck," she whispered for what could be the twentieth time. “Fuck me, Peter, please.” 

He took a break from bringing his tongue up and down her folds and chuckled, “not yet” before sucking her clit again as he stuck two fingers into her slickness. She gasped as he put his fingers at a slight bend as he found her g-spot almost immediately and toyed with it. 

“Holy shit,” she managed, forgetting how to say anything other than different phrases that praised the way Peter Parker wanted to make her come because this was not just sex, no. This was MJ transcending into a different plane of existence because not even fucking her yet, Peter had MJ screaming into orgasm. And he didn’t let her take a break - he kept sucking after having put her over the edge only moments ago. “Too much.”

He stopped immediately. “I can stop if you want, Em, I’m sorry I jus–”

“No. Too much. Want more,” she sat up, causing Peter to lift his body up and kneel on the mattress, legs spread on either side of her. She looked at him, feeling endeared at his instant concern for her consent. “But you’re wearing too many clothes, Parker.”

Technically, he had only been wearing a coat, but whatever. She took the collar of the said coat and pulled it down to show off his arms and incredible v-shaped body in all its glory. His eyes widened at the speed at which MJ slipped his black leather belt out of its loop, unbuttoned and unzipped his black jeans, and pulled them down along with his boxers. She refused to take her time, she wanted Peter - needed him, so she pushed the stray mess of her hair behind her and wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock, never slowing down. She bobbed her head up and down as he curled his hands into fists around her wavy hair, slightly tugging on it in a way that sparked more arousal throughout MJ’s body. 

She felt herself getting wetter as she heard Peter moan her name, silent and throaty, no longer being able to wait for him to be inside her. She pulled herself off of him with a small pop of her lips, licking one more stripe from the base of his cock all the way to the tip of his head, before trailing her tongue all the way up to his v-line, abs, neck, and lips. They stayed kneeling and kissing before he gently pushed her on her back.

“Condom?” he asked, almost pleaded, his tone of voice being sexy and needy at the same time.

“I’m on the pill, and I’ve been tested, so if you're good to go and if you’re comfortable…” she asked. He contemplated for a second, and he shrugged.

“I am,” he said as he stroked himself a little bit before guiding his member towards her lips, teasing MJ before slowly sticking himself inside her, connecting their bodies and forming a feeling that MJ - as much of a writer as she was - couldn’t find any words in the English language to describe the euphoria of the way Peter fucked her. 

“Do you like that? Tell me you like that,” he begged.

“Fuck me harder,” she begged.

“Yes ma’am,” he thrust faster, using the mattress to steady himself above her. She lifted her arms up, hands hitting her wooden headboard and legs wrapped around his waist. His left hand came off the mattress and gripped her wrists together, as he asked, “Is this okay?”

She nods fervently, wanting Peter Parker to take her in any way that he could that night, but he slowed down his strokes inside her and smiled. “Can I try something?” 

“What is it?” she asked, breathless and impatient, wanting to keep going. He pulled out, rolled off the side of the bed, grabbed her legs and pulled her to the edge of her mattress. She gasped and giggled. He gawked and touched her slender, glistening legs in awe before lifting them and placing them on his shoulders. 

The second time he started thrusting, he didn’t enter slowly. He pushed into her slickness and fucked her relentlessly. All she could do was scream his name and beg for more, and boy did he give her more, most, _ everything_. 

“You sound so fucking beautiful when I fuck you,” he says with each quick and fast thrust. “You look beautiful when you roll your eyes back because of me.” 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, couldn’t even keep up with his dirty mind, just begged to hear more worship from him by saying, “tell me more, _ please. _” 

She felt him tense up as he kept going, knowing that they’d need to talk about this the next day. 

“Come for me, Em, just like you did when I was eating you out,” he slurred. “I almost came just hearing you scream my name.”

“Holy sh-,” and she moans, “I’m coming.” He drove into her, pushing her to the brink of coming, taking her legs off of his shoulders and wrapping them around his own waist. He helped her ride out her orgasm through a combination of intense thrusts, gasps, and “god, fuck, MJ’s” until she finished, and so did he, leaving white stripes on her belly. 

“My God, Peter Parker,” she unwrapped her legs around him.

“Michelle Jones,” he smiles sheepishly while shrugging. Little shit. But he kisses her again, this time just a quick peck on the lips before reminding her to pee. 

“It’s important beca–”

“I know why it’s important," she laughed.

“You’re right, sorry,” he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. And suddenly, the persona he had while he was driving into her was gone, and the shy, rambling, nervous Peter was back. When she returned from her bathroom, she saw him slipping into his boxers, her heart slowly breaking at the thought of him leaving, and time stopped.

What MJ would say next, she had initially justified from the one too many swigs of liquor from the party and the heightened endorphin levels from sex, but later on - as the weeks went by - when they’d find excuses to hook up and re-experience the feeling of each other’s skin when they’d finally confess to each other that they loved each other since they were sixteen when they’d make it official and go on dates with Ned and Betty, she realized it wasn’t just that.

“Stay with me?”

But unlike MJ, Peter had that same exact realization right then and there, in the dark of her room, with a sliver of moonlight shining on her skin as he answered, "I will."

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @spideysmjs  
Tumblr: @briens


End file.
